I Saw Myself
by sleapyGazelle
Summary: The wind whips his greasy black braid against his massive back. He raises his right hand to block the sleet from his eyes. The new methods he's adopting are time-consuming. But if his previous failures are any indication, they will work. They have to. Post-HTTYD2. Cover image by faragonart (Tumblr).
1. Hiccup the Useful

**A/N:** This will be my take on the next installment of How to Train Your Dragon, taking place a couple of months after the end of the 2nd film. If you're reading and you like it, and want to see more, please drop me a review to let me know. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

 _This… is Berk. It's quite the desolate place, and it's easier to freeze to death here than it is to actually live. But our dragons make life here a whole lot more pleasant. And once we repaired the damage from the battle with Drago Bludvist and his dragon army, things were looking up, if I do say so myself._

 _By the way, I'm Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, although these days I go by Hiccup the Useful. Gobber said I needed to choose a title when I was made Chief of the Hairy Hooligans, and "the Useful" seemed like a good name to live up to. And after having been considered utterly useless as a Viking for the longest time, it carries some poetic justice as well. But choosing an easy title doesn't mean I don't still have the legacy of my father, Stoick the Vast, to live up to._

* * *

"Hiccup!" comes a distant cry, just as I'm about to sit down to breakfast.

"Ohh gods," I groan.

Mom, who's already seated, chuckles. "Berk needs its Chief," she says.

Rolling my eyes, I turn to the door just as it bursts open to reveal a panting Sven. "What is it this time?" I ask. "Did Birger's sheep run away again? No, wait. Don't tell me. The twins started a brawl in the Great Hall."

Sven's eyes widen at the hypothetical calamities. Apparently, he's missed my sarcasm entirely. (Honestly, why do I even try.) "No, Hiccup! It's the new dragons! They're starting fights in the stables again."

"I wasn't that far off." I grab my old horned helmet, my flaming sword, and my Zippleback gas canister, which feels too light in my hand. "Gonna have to refill this soon," I note, tucking the tools into their pockets in my leather armor. I step out into the sunlight, and immediately feel the frigid air on my face. It's a glorious day for a ride. "Maybe later we can squeeze in some time to work on solo gliding, bud," I say as I mount Toothless. He grunts back in exasperation, clearly hoping we won't have time for any stunts.

Sven gets on Tanghook **[1]** , his Monstrous Nightmare, and we head off toward the stables. Toothless flies a little slower than he needs to, and, really, I can't blame him. Being in the sky beats whatever's waiting for us on land.

As soon as the stables come into view, I can see that Sven's panic wasn't unwarranted. This fight is unlike any we've had before. Jets of fire and plumes of smoke are spilling out of the openings. A deafening din of dragon roars fills the air. We land and a Terrible Terror flies past my head, giving my spaulder a taste of his firepower. Just another day on the job.

I approach the scene at a jog, and the mayhem is even worse up close. Dozens of the dragons that we freed from Drago's dragon army are flying about, spewing flame at the ones that have been settled here for years. They in turn are trying to defend their favorite spots from the hostile newcomers. "Oh, Thor," I whisper, trying to find where to start. Needing to get their attention, I run into the middle of the fight and release all the green gas left in my canister, and spark it. The explosion draws their eyes and ears to me. Taking advantage, I approach the closest dragon, a Deadly Nadder, and try to calm him. But the others quickly lose interest, and get back to their squabble, drawing my Nadder with them. This isn't working.

Covering my face with my arms to block the flames, I come back out to where a solid crowd has gathered. Friendly faces like Gobber, Mulch, and Bucket are interspersed with more skeptical ones. "Whaddya say we do, Hiccup?" asks Eerika, and other villagers echo her concern.

Looking back to where the dragons are all set to destroy their lodgings, I make a decision. "Everyone whose dragons are in there, mount up," I call. "We need to clear some room inside so we can calm the new dragons down."

"Aye. You got it, Chief," says Gobber, and makes his way into the cave that's basically become a furnace now. "C'mon Grump. Give yer old man a ride around the village." Others follow suit. Gothi waves her staff at the Terrible Terrors, deliberately knocking a few of them in the head with it, and they follow her out towards her house. And just like that half of the stables are cleared out, leaving only our newest dragon citizens behind. Happy to claim the now unoccupied stables, the rowdy bunch fly about inspecting the lodgings.

"Alright, fellas." I draw my sword, lit dazzlingly by trusty Monstrous Nightmare gel. They're drawn to it, and slow down their flying to watch me. I lead them over to one side of the cave, but they're still restless. "What's agitating them?" I wonder out loud. In the light of my sword I notice a green glint from the opposite end of the cave, close to where the fight had been centered. Is that…

"Stay," I say to the dragons, kindly but firmly. I back away a few steps before retracting the blade, then turn and walk over to where I saw the flash of green. And there, hidden under some rocks, just as I suspected, is dragon root. I've seen bigger chunks of it, but this one has been chopped up, exposing much more of it to the dragons. Behind me, they're starting to roar again. I run back out and mount Toothless. "Take some dragon nip in there and spread it around the dragons," I tell the remaining Vikings standing by.

"It's dragon root, bud. We gotta get it out of there." We take off, and Toothless growls. "I don't know how it got there either. It looks like a prank. Remind me to ask the twins about it later." Because normally, I leave them alone to their business, but it's too early (in the day _and_ in the year) for Loki Day practical jokes.

We fly straight to the dragon training academy. We need a dragon to help us haul all those bits and dump them somewhere off the island. And a certain Fishlegs has the best-trained Gronckel on Berk - the only dragon breed immune to dragon root. Fishlegs and Snotlout had taken over the job of running the Academy when I embarked on my project of charting faraway lands. Once I became chief, there was no question of making time to train new riders, so they kept their new positions.

As we near the Academy, Fishlegs and Snotlout come into view, alone. The new trainees must not have arrived yet. My friends are clearly in the middle of a heated debate, all pointing fingers and withering looks. "Ohh gods," I mutter. Some things never change. They realize they have company just as we're about to land, and they break off, faces quite red. "Hello Snotlout, Fishlegs. Having a good morning?"

"I'm stuck here with _this guy_ , who thinks letting Monstrous Nightmares loose on the kids on their _first day_ is a good idea," complains Fishlegs.

"Hey! It's what Gobber did to us, and look how we turned out."

"I'd rather _not_ look at how you turned out, Snotlout."

"Aand that's enough," I interrupt. "I'm about to make your morning a whole lot more eventful. Dragon root. In the stables."

"What? That's disastrous! There are hundreds of dragons in there! They'll all go berserk! Hiccup! How did it get in there? When did this happen?"

"Calm down, Fishlegs. I've gotten a lot of dragons out. We just need to calm the new ones."

"Yeah, _Fishlegs._ Calm yourself. This is a job for the Snotman."

Do some things really _never_ change? "Need I remind you, Snotlout, that Hookfang is already temperamental, and is _not_ immune to dragon root? _Unlike_ Meatlug?" At the mention of her name, Fishlegs's sweet-tempered Gronckel flies over on her tiny wings and gives me a lick. "Hi girl," I chuckle, rubbing her snout. Toothless grunts indignantly behind me. I usually get upset when he licks me, because it doesn't wash out. I don't have the same problem with Gronckels, and he knows this very well; so I ignore him. "We've got a job for you, Meatlug." She snorts happily, glad to be of use. "Snotlout, you wait here for the new recruits while I take Fishlegs and Meatlug to the stables."

"And _don't_ set any dragons loose on them before I get back," adds Fishlegs.

Snotlout scoffs, but doesn't object, so we head back to the cave. Somehow, things are worse than before. With more room to maneuver, the dragons are ready to tear each other's' throats out.

"Now, Meatlug!" commands Fishlegs, and she flies in, dodging the warring beasts skillfully. She lands by the dragon root and scoops the pieces into her vast mouth. Once the others realize what she's doing however, they try to pull her back. I can't take Toothless in there or he'll just join the madness. "Plasma blast," I tell him instead, and he shoots near Meatlug's feet, scattering her attackers. "Good job, bud." A Night Fury never misses.

"Thanks, Hiccup," shouts Fishlegs, and Meatlug takes off. Once they're back from dumping the offending root into the ocean, where it can't wash back onto our shores, Fishlegs turns to me. "Who do you think could have done this?"

"Who else?"

"You think it was the twins? I don't know, Hiccup. It seems kind of malicious to do something like that on purpose. I feel it was either someone naive who didn't know what the root can do to dragons, or someone who really wanted to cause trouble."

"Probably the former," I dismiss. "Though I wonder where they got it from. It doesn't grow on Berk, and we've been pretty vigilant about not letting it on the island. The last time we had it here was when Mildew was still around." Fishlegs nods concernedly. "Anyway, I'll keep an eye out for any root growing around here. Let's try to organize the stables for now. We'll separate the dragons by breed. They're less likely to be hostile if their roommates are familiar."

So we go in, where the dragons are noticeably calmer, and designate areas for each breed, taking into account their individual size and overall number. Pretty soon, we have signs up telling the dragons where to go. They can recognize the drawings of their respective breeds, and are smart enough to understand what we want from them. I just hope they'll be nice enough to oblige. Still, I'm pretty hopeful. At the most, I'll need to come in and direct them on where to go for a few days, until they pick up on the routine. For now, Toothless, Meatlug, Fishlegs, and I shepherd them into their respective areas. "I'll need you and Snotlout to help out with the others once their riders bring them back," I tell Fishlegs.

"Not a problem, Hiccup," he replies cheerfully. "Meatlug and I will handle it. Right, girl?" Meatlug brings her massive tongue above her head to lick his face.

" _With_ Snotlout and Hookfang," I remind him with a sigh. "It's not a job for a single rider." We take off again, Fishlegs to rejoin Snotlout at the Academy, and I to finish my breakfast.

* * *

 **[1]** There are three Monstrous Nightmares in the movies/show who are named: Hookfang, Fanghook (Gustav's dragon), and Girl Hookfang. I find this hilarious, and I'm keeping the tradition of unoriginally naming Monstrous Nightmares in my fic as well, with Tanghook.

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 **A/N:** The rest of the gang and other characters will be making appearances as we get further into the story. Let me know what you thought of chapter 1!


	2. Breakfast at Valka's

**A/N:** This is a short one, so I'll update again on Saturday. Stay tuned!

* * *

I'm dreading breakfast with mom almost as much as I'm looking forward to it.

I come home and mom is standing by the fire, boiling fish. The dread just overtook the looking forward to… "Hey, mom," I say tentatively.

"Oh, Hiccup; there you are! The food Gobber brought us got cold, and no one likes reheated fish." She chuckles. "So I thought I'd cook something up for us until you got back." She looks nervous but happy, and once again I stop short of reminding her why Gobber tries to save her from her own cooking. "Now, I know what you're thinking, son - that the last time I made breakfast, the fish was a bit too hard on the outside."

"A bit?" I allow myself to ask. "Gobber took the first bite and his iron tooth cracked!"

She giggles, but from her it sounds deep and throaty, not unlike a dragon's laugh. It's a sound I'll never get tired of hearing. "Yes, yes. I remember. But since then, I've convinced Gobber to give me some of his recipes."

I wouldn't have thought he'd need convincing. I'd expect him to be willing to try anything to improve mom's food, even though he may think it hopeless. I ask as much.

"Aye," she says, grinning. "Once I promised not to try them on you without his approval, he handed the recipes right over." She touches my cheek. "It's what I should have done all those years ago, when I tried to cook for your father. I would have, too, if it hadn't been for my darn pride," she recalls wistfully.

I smile at his mention, even as I feel my chest tighten a little. Mom catches the look, and her large eyes full with softness. She reaches out a hand and grips my shoulder. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and give her a small smile and almost imperceptible nod. "Thanks, mom." I've said it to her numerous times over the past few months, but each time I'm thinking of something new - for coming back to Berk for me, for protecting the dragons, for sharing in my grief.

She draws me to her and rests her chin on my head. We stay like this for a few moments until… "Uh, mom?"

She pulls away and looks at my face questioningly. I roll my eyes toward the stove, smirking knowingly. And then she smells it.

"Oh, Odin. I should have known. Of course I've gone and burned it." She shakes her head at herself, quickly pulling the burned fish off the fire.

"It's okay. It's my fault for distracting you."

"No no, son. I'm glad we talked. It's… nice talking with you, listening to your voice." She turns her face away from me. "I suppose you'd better go eat with Gobber," she says, as she begins scraping the fish from the pot.

"Yeah, let's both go."

But she tells me to go on, since she has to meet up with the twins' mom, and she'll eat with her. She's still facing away from me, so I give her a hug from behind, and leave her be. I think we'd both rather be alone with our thoughts and memories of Dad right now.

* * *

 **A/N:** Valka is such a dynamic character, and I loved writing her! Here we got our first glimpse of her re-adjusting to life on Berk, and as the story progresses, we'll see how that can get more complicated. We'll also see how the mother-son relationship develops and strengthens. Feedback is a huge encouragement when it comes to writing more, so any reviews are much appreciated!


	3. Astrid in the Berk Guard

**A/N:** As promised, here is chapter 3. I'm still just introducing all the characters and what they're doing, and here is the first of one of my favorites, Astrid Hofferson. Enjoy!

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"Stormfly! Barrel roll!" yells Astrid, over the wind. With a squawk, the Nadder complies, spinning in tight circles. Astrid tightens her legs around Stormfly and flattens herself against her back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind in her hair and across her face. Stormfly straightens, sticking her wings out to their full span, then flaps once, twice, and soars upward in a sharp vertical climb. Grinning, Astrid securely grips the spike on Stormfly's neck and slips her feet out of the stirrups, letting gravity pull her down. And she's flying, her body parallel to Stormfly's back, soaring through a cloud, the spike the only thing keeping her from plummeting to her death. It's exhilarating.

Stormfly levels off, giving Astrid only a moment to get her legs back in place, before launching into a nosedive. Astrid presses herself into her back, and lets out a whoop of joy. She receives a squawk in response, just as Stormfly's left wing grazes the ocean, and she settles back into a smooth glide over the water.

"Uh oh." She forgot to be quiet. "Oh _gods_." Calder would be all over her. If she's lucky, he won't embarrass her in front of the other guardians later when they all meet up after patrols. But knowing Calder, she expects him to.

As if on cue, a giant emerald green Deadly Nadder with golden hued markings, armored in Gronckle iron, flies into her field of vision.

"Easy girl," says Astrid, exasperated; because Stormfly is getting erratic, trying to nip at Forrest's wings. As if getting caught isn't bad enough without her dragon embarrassing her by flirting with the boss's dragon.

Forrest growls at his suitor, and she backs away. Temporarily. Calder, Head of the Berk Guard, fixes Stormfly with a disapproving glare (which she ignores), before turning the look on Astrid. "You're supposed to be patrolling the west end of the Archipelago. This," he looks around pointedly, "is more south… than west." The words themselves are hesitant, but Calder has a way of very politely bringing out remorse in his subordinates.

"I'm sorry, Calder. I got carried away. It's perfect flying weather, and I already checked the west. So I veered off course a little."

"Need I remind you of the consequences of _veering_?" He speaks in his characteristic alluring drawl.

Astrid sighs. "I know. I know. I'll be more careful next time. But I had _already_ finished my patrols, and there aren't any threats around here. Shouldn't we just be grateful for this peacetime?" She forces herself not to sound combative, because she likes Calder; she really does. But the Berk Guard hasn't had much to do since Drago and his Bewilderbeast were defeated. The only productive thing they've done since Astrid joined is help repair the destruction from the Dragon Army battle, which, granted, is very important work. But it isn't a military operation.

"We show our gratitude for peacetime by _keeping_ it, Astrid. Perhaps a lesson on the history and significance of the Berk Guard will do you and the other guardians some good," says Calder. "Come on, Forrest."

So he definitely _will_ embarrass her in front of the others. With his back to her, she finally allows herself to roll her eyes. Calder is bound to tradition like honey to dragonhide. It's a true honor to be a member of the Guard, but she has ideas on how they can be more useful to Berk during peacetime. But her boss insists on keeping them on as overexalted patrolmen.

Astrid pats Stormfly's shoulder, who lets out a sad squawk at Forrest's departure. "Turn west, girl. We need to go fly in circles." The Nadder shakes her massive head indignantly, as if offended at having her talents wasted on a menial task. But she turns nonetheless.

* * *

Astrid lies in the grass, legs and arms stretched out. Her axe and detached spaulders lie a few feet away. Her eyes look up at a brilliant cloudless blue. If she stares hard enough it looks like the sky, and not Stormfly's wing shielding her from the sun. After all day in the saddle, feeling the grass poking into her arms and her dragon's warm breath ruffling her hair give her some much needed relaxation. She breathes in deeply, and lets her eyes drift shut.

"Hi Astrid," comes a soft, nasally voice - hesitant, as if unsure if she's awake.

Hiccup. It's been a good three days since they've spoken. She leaves her eyes closed but let's her lips twitch up at the uneven approach of his footsteps. "Hey, babe. How'd you know I was here?"

"Oh. Um… I didn't."

She opens her eyes to find him a couple of feet to her right, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head. Toothless is bounding toward Stormfly, who pulls her wings away from Astrid to go play. "Oh?"

"Yeah, I just felt like I wanted to be alone for a bit. It's been a long day, and this lonely cliff is really relaxing."

She smiles, and some of the tension in his shoulders melts away. Propping herself up on her elbow to peer at him, she says, her voice teasing, "You know, you could have said something romantic. Like, my heart can always find you." Hiccup's raises his eyebrows at her. "Wow that was so cheesy," she says, surprised at herself. "Never mind. I'm glad you didn't say that." She sits up as he settles down beside her, and he puts an arm around her, pulling her close. They sit in companionable silence, her head against his chest and his cheek on her head, looking out at the view of Itchy Armpit.

Astrid breaks the silence. "My mom's been asking me what color to dye the dress." She can feel him stiffen around her, though he doesn't let go. She stops herself from pulling away to search his face.

"Oh. I, uh, I guess blue's always been your color, hasn't it?"

 _You guess?_ she thinks. She shrugs. "Yeah. My mom always dressed me in blue, because she said it brought out my eyes." Hiccup makes a noncommittal sound, and they return to silence. But this time, it feels much less comfortable to Astrid.

* * *

 **A/N:** Before you get upset about that last bit, keep in mind that we only have Astrid's perspective in this chapter. We don't yet know what is making Hiccup uncomfortable, and neither does Astrid. His state of mind will be revealed in further chapters.

I hope you enjoyed seeing Astrid, and that I did her justice. :)


	4. Ruffnut Helps Eret

**A/N:** Thank you guys for the continued support! This is a silly little intro for our old friends Eret and Ruff. Since it's so tiny, watch this space for another update tomorrow.

For the couple of readers who asked, the Berk Guard mentioned in the previous chapter was a reference to episode 1 of Race to the Edge, in which Astrid was about to join the Berk Guard, but put off that plan to join Hiccup on his adventures. No details about the Guard were given though, so the details and Calder are my own headcanons.

* * *

Eret, son of Eret, saws away. His immense arms move enticingly, and slices of wood fall at his feet. He pauses only to wipe the sweat dripping off his brow and into the beard he's been growing out. Ruffnut Thorston watches him work, glad to note that the vision of him is just as breathtaking as when she first laid eyes on him. She is sure she'd be content just to watch him like th-

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" he asks, breaking her reverie. But really, she's ready to launch into a new one, because, Thor, that captivating voice is… captivating.

"Ruffnut?" He prods, when her features settle back into a lecherous but impassive stare. And it works this time, because she speaks up.

"Say that again."

"You're supposed to be helping me gather wood to-"

"No, no. After that."

He gapes at her, trying to recall what he said after that. "Ruffnut?"

Her toothy smile widens. "Again," she says dreamily.

His face settles into a withering look of distaste, which has no effect on her. He self-consciously goes back to sawing. He does need to finish the repairs on his house before the sleet starts. The old man who used to live here years ago was clearly not a responsible homeowner. Eret wonders if all the mildew he'd had to scrape off the wood when Hiccup first gave him the house was how the old man had gotten his name. But then again, everyone on Berk has hideous names. Like Snotlout. And Phlegma. And, as much as he likes the guy, even Hiccup. Maybe it's some superstition. He makes a note to ask Astrid about it later.


	5. Gobber's Troubles

**A/N:** As promised, the next installment. We're back to Hiccup now, and hopefully you'll see some more insight into his thoughts and feelings here. Enjoy!

* * *

"What do yeh think yer doing?" roars Gobber the Belch, his back to me. But before he can get an answer, he's already turned away. "Yer going to take someone's eye out!" he cries, exasperated. "And _you_ , Germa, are all set to burn this whole place down." Huffing irritatedly, he adds, "Not even Hiccup was this bad. _Ever_. And you kids might not realize, but _that_ is saying something."

"Hello, Gobber," I take my cue.

"Chief!" He turns and pats me on the back. Except when Vikings do that it's enough to knock your breath out.

I groan. "Didn't I tell you not to call me that?" Gobber throws me an amused look. "What happened to the good old sarcastic comments you used to greet me with? Like, 'so yeh finally decided to show up for work eh?'"

"First of all, that's a damn good impression of me. How come I've never seen it before? And secondly, I can't address yeh like that now! Yeh don't work for me anymore. Actually, I kind of work for you."

"Gobber," I begin, probably rolling my eyes.

"No, you listen here, lad-"

"Lad! Lad is fine too, you know."

"As I was saying, what is it with you and names? You don't let me call you Chief. You scold anyone who says 'Dragon Master' or 'Dragon Conqueror.' Even your friends. Even _Astrid_."

"It's exactly because it's you guys, Gobber," I reply, but choose not to push the point. He'd just launch into a pep talk. I can't get it through to him, but I chiefdom won't make me forget who I am, who my friends and family are. "Anyway," I _skillfully_ change the subject, "why does the forge look like Thor crashed through here with his mighty hammer?"

Gobber sits down hard on a nearby stool. "Thor's mighty hammer indeed." He shakes his head sorrowfully, then looks up at me. "I suppose I'd better start at the top, eh?" I nod. "So now that you're _permanently_ no longer my apprentice, I need some help around here."

I don't bother suppressing my grin. "So you've finally realized my worth, Gobber," I tease. "After I've left."

"Aye, it's true - you did more work than these three cretins combined - at least when you weren't breaking things while working on your inventions. But I always valued you, lad. I was the one who encouraged Stoick to let to go to dragon killing school, after all."

"That worked out splendidly, didn't it?"

"Don't be so sarcastic. In a way it did. You might never have shown the rest of us that we were wrong if you weren't forced into the kill ring with the Monstrous Nightmare. If yer Night Fury hadn't tried to save you from Hookfang."

 _Gods_ … How long ago was that? It feels like ages. Like I was a different person then. Then again, everything from before I became chief feels like someone else's memories.

"ALRIGHT," Gobber reacts to a crash of metal on stone. "That's enough! All three of you, take a lunch break."

"But it's not midday" pipes one surprised boy.

"You heard me," Gobber snarls, and I wince along with the kids. I'm not used to this much harshness in his voice. The trio file out of the forge, not much the worse for wear.

"They're really a handful, huh?" I prod. Gobber shrugs resignedly. "Why didn't you say anything to me before? I could have helped. I still can."

"I can handle my own forge, lad," he says dismissively. "It survived _you_ as an apprentice, didn't it?" He laughs at his own joke. "But, yeh know, if yeh've got some time, I wouldn't mind a helping hand figuring out how best to utilize those kids."

And of course I'm happy to help. "I have a plan."

The back room of the forge - my old refuge - looks like a relic of what it was a couple of years ago. There's no more mess of papers scattered over the desk. But some of my sketches are still pinned to the wall. Pretty much all the drawings of the shield are here. _Was it always this_ small _?_ I grab some paper from it's usual spot under the desk and sit down, pulling out my pencil. "Okay, Gobber," I begin, drawing a chart. "Three eleven year-olds together in a confined space are a fire hazard. How was that a surprise to you?"

"When you put it like that," he says from his perch by the doorway, "it really shouldn't have been. All of their parents offered me their children's services. All three are equally unqualified; there was no reason to pick one over the others. So here they are."

Rather amused by the thought of three unqualified preteens keeping Gobber the Belch on the edge, I hide my smirk from my former boss. "How about you leave them in the forge for a day?"

"This is your plan? Are y-" he stops short. "Actually, I'm sure you have a reason for suggesting that. Go on."

"C'mon Gobber. I'm really fishing for some sass here."

"Yeah, yer not gonna get it, Chief."

" _Ohh_ gods. Okay. Anyway, the plan is to just let them be for a day. Give them a varied list of not-too-dangerous tasks, and observe them. See what each of them is good at."

"A right load of nothing, that's what," he grumbles. "But yes. It's a good idea. Then, once I know where they stand, I'll have them come in on different days so I can train them separately, instead of trying to control them all at once." He takes the chart and pencil from me and starts scribbling down the kids' names and a list of chores. "Thanks, Hiccup."

Grinning in response, I walk over to the side cabinet and take out some ale. I pour two cups and hand one to Gobber. But just as I'm about to sit, a sweet little voice calls from the storefront. "Gobber, this Viking wants a new saddle!"

"I'll be right out, Germa." Gobber's voice is tired.

"I'll take care of it," I assure him. "No job is too small for a chief," I add, but my breath catches on the last word. Lately I've found myself internalizing Dad's snippets of advice whenever I'm unsure of myself. And even sometimes - like now - when I'm not. It's like I took in all the words when he spoke them, but only now am I processing them.

If Gobber notices my internal monologue, he doesn't say anything. I walk out and see Phlegma giving me a broad smile. I return it and take her order, a child-sized saddle as a gift for her neighbor.

"No rest for the weary, eh?" The ale is drawing some of the fatigue out of Gobber. "Ah, I suppose it's fine. Yer a young man after all, Hiccup."

I am. But you wouldn't know it from the lines and bags around my eyes.


	6. Thorstons' Laff Loki

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone's who's bearing with me as I update rather infrequently. I have this whole fic plotted out; it's just a matter of getting the momentum to write on. My thanks for astridthevalkyrie (Tumblr) for beta-ing. Enjoy!

* * *

"It's crooked, sis."

"Your face is crooked."

"A fair point, but irrelevant to mine. Don't snarl at me. I can snarl better than you. Watch this…"

The Thorston twins are trying to put up the new sign for their joke shop, Laff Loki. Their usual banter and lowkey violence fills the time as they get ready to reopen after a mild disaster forced them to close for repairs… for the third time since they first opened. Said lowkey violence may have contributed… it may have been _the_ cause. But anyway, they're back in business, and now with a flashy new sign to boost business. If only they could agree on how to position it…

"Ruff, it could fall if we put it there."

"I'll make it fall on your face."

"That actually sounds fun… Do it!"

"Okay. Here!" She lets go once he's positioned beneath it.

"OW!" A beat. "That was awesome. Do it again." He bends to pick up the sign and hand it back to his sister.

"Uh, guys," a voice interrupts.

"Fishlegs!" Ruffnut throws him a flying kiss. "What can I do for you?"

He returns her kiss with a shy smile. "Well darling, I was hoping I could get something to prank Snotlout with."

"Hey! Since when do you two hang out without me?"

A blush creeps its way into Fishlegs's cheeks, but Tuffnut saves him from having to answer. "They _work_ together, sis. They run the _academy_ together."

"You're such a meathead," Ruffnut dismisses. "I asked about hanging out, not working. And these two were always too busy fighting over me to do anything else together. Well, now that you don't have to fight each other for me anymore," she says, turning back to the customer, "I'm glad you're starting to get along." Because in Ruffnut's book, pranking someone is an intimate way to show them you care. "Anyway, we're not officially re-opened yet. But I'll see what I can do. You're a special customer after all." She winks, ducking into the shop. She emerges with a scary-looking grass-green contraption about the size of a Terrible Terror. "How about this?" she asks Fishlegs, excitedly. "You open it up like this," she demonstrates, "and lay it in the path of the victim. They step in it and it releases skunk juice. They won't get out of the bath for days, and it still won't do them any good." Her eyes narrow wickedly.

"Ha! It would be totally wasted on him. Snotlout already stinks."

"No one asked you, Tuff."

"I am fifty percent owner of this shop. My opinion matters just as much as yours."

And their bickering begins anew, so they don't notice when Fishlegs puts down some coins and takes the skunk sprayer.

* * *

 **A/N:** And here we have the first hints of an OT3 going on OT4 interaction between Ruffnut, Snotlout, and Fishlegs, with Eret being the fourth link. Drop me a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Thanks for reading!


	7. Of Yaks and Sheep

**A/N:** I hadn't touched this story in a while; but the other day I got some inspiration from an unlikely source. I was watching The Clone Wars, and one of the arcs was rather similar to what I have planned for my fic. And watching it made me sit up and open this doc again. Here's hoping I find the drive to keep writing. Thank you all who've been following; I really appreciate your support!

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I can hear the yelling from a mile away.

Now, normally, Vikings are loud even when expressing the most mundane of emotions. Just the other day, Dogsbreath started yelling at me, and I thought he was upset about something at first. But it turned out he was just asking me about the plans for Snoggletog.

But this… is different. This is actual yelling. I emerge over the hill to find Grima standing straight-backed with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes. Colborn stands before her, gripping his mace, knuckles white. Hot-headed is by-far the most common flavor of Viking, so the display doesn't surprise me all that much.

"Guys!" I approach cheerfully. "It is _way_ too cold to be standing out here and fighting, don't you think?"

Grima turns those blazing eyes towards me, and it's enough to make me flinch.

"Fighting?" she protests. "I wouldn't be fighting if it weren't for Colborn messin' with me yaks and sheep."

"I told you, _your_ yaks attacked _me_ ," Colborn yells right back.

 _Ohhh Thor._

A decent-sized crowd has gathered by now to watch the drama and to yell out their own advice. (Seriously, what is it with Vikings and yelling?) "Let's just talk this out. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding. We can clear it up."

Both Colborn and Grima try to reply at the same time, so I don't quite catch what each of them shouted. But I presume the gist of it is that neither feels particularly inclined to be civilized to the other. As least not at the moment.

"All this over some livestock?" Some of the exasperation creeps into my voice.

"Where do you think we are, Hiccup? Rome? The Civilized World? This is the Barbaric Archipelago after all."

Colborn laughs at Grima's little joke, but sadly, that doesn't seem to end the animosity.

"I demand you herd up my sheep and lock them back in my barn!" asserts Grima.

" _I_ demand reparations for your yaks having attacked me!" Colborn retorts.

Aand we're back to square one. Or did we ever leave square one at all? Hmm…

"It appears," sneers Colborn, "that we have a difference of opinion."

"By Odin, we do!" agrees Grima. "I'll fight you over this, Colborn! My animals are my livelihood."

"Gladly. To the dea-"

"Just a minute. Berk's livestock are all of our livelihoods. We'll all work together and get your sheep in order.

"No, Hiccup! It isn't fair," states Colborn. "She's a bully, and we won't stand for it any longer!" With that, he raises his mace-wielding arm in the air, and a dozen or so onlookers cheer their agreement.

How did a garden-variety domestic dispute escalate into this?

"All I do is work hard, and none of yeh appreciate me," bemoans Grima, with palpable malice. "Yeh call me a bully!"

"Everybody just calm down," I try again.

"Ohh, Hiccup, I _am_ calm," seethes Grima. "But I doubt these people want to see me lose my calm. It is _not_ a pretty sight."

"Grima! Colborn! You two will herd the sheep. Together. Sven, Spitelout, and Phlegma, you try to calm the yaks down."

The Vikings grudgingly move to obey, but the fighting doesn't cease. _Thor._ Dad never had trouble controlling the Hooligans.

As if on cue, Spitelout is at my shoulder. "You know, Hiccup, Stoick just used to yell the loudest. It's the only way to assert dominance over Vikings."

"Just go look for the yak, Spitelout." My people can't seem to stop reminding me that my father actually _knew_ how to be a chief. And a great one at that. I lift my gaze to the stone statue we had constructed - the curls of his beard captured perfectly in the white stone, his serene eyes watching over Berk. Over us.

Out if the corner if my eye, I catch sight of blue scales, and turn to see Astrid landing a few feet away. I've known her all my life, but I've accepted the fact that I'll always be unreasonably happy to see her… every single time. "Astrid!"

"Hiccup! What's going on?" she asks, dismounting.

"Just a little fight over sheep and yak. You know, the usual."

She chuckles, walking over to ruffle my hair. I don't know if I've ever been able to tell her how comforting her touch is. "No really," she presses. "Things were pretty loud. I heard the shouting from the sky."

"I know," I sigh. "It's under control now." And it is. Finally. Getting their hands busy seems to have distracted them long enough to calm down a little. She nods, and puts her arm through mine. We both turn to the statue I had been looking at before she arrived. "I'm nothing like him, Astrid." It's just a statement. Not a complaint, not a question.

"You're turning out to be a great chief, Hiccup Haddock." She slides her hand down my arm and laces her fingers through mine.

"Thanks." I squeeze her hand. "But I don't know about great."

"You don't have to be intimidating to be a good leader. Remember when we were living on Dragon's Edge? It was our island, and you were basically chief there. Even if it wasn't official or anything."

I nod, and turn to give her a smile before looking away again. I _do_ remember Dragon's Edge. I remember fighting Dagur and Ryker and Viggo. I remember barking out orders without thinking twice. I remember my friends' lives being at risk when my plans failed, just because they were following my orders. Being a leader isn't as easy as I used to think a couple of years ago. My fingers itch to pull out the map still tucked into my breastplate. I hold on to Astrid a little bit tighter instead.


	8. Chief Concerns

**A/N:** I finally wrote some more, and feel comfortable enough to start posting again. Those of you still with me, I appreciate the support!

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I finally make my way home, domestic squabbles and the baying of sheeps playing in my head. I walk in through the door and the sight that greets me pushes out my anxiety for the time being. Mom is sitting on the drawing room floor, bent over sheets of scattered parchment, a sharpened pencil in her hand furiously scribbling some notes. Cloudjumper sits opposite her, watching her work with interest. She's so engrossed, it doesn't look like she even heard me come in; and I'm not really in the mood to disturb her. As quietly as I can, I pull out a chair and sit at the table, grabbing an apple to munch on as I watch over her shoulder. There are maps, drawn in her own hand, on many of the pages, and what she's writing appears to be a checklist of some sort. She pauses every now and then to consult one of the maps. And then she sets her list aside and starts organizing the mess of pages. _She's building a map out of these little pieces_ , I realize. She's ordering them from memory, and I can see the land masses forming before my eyes. It's incredible. These are lands far beyond the Archipalego, where not even I have been.

"How far have you traveled?" The question comes out a bit awestruck, before I remember I was trying not to disturb her. She jumps a little at my sudden voice, breaking the point of her pencil on the floor.

"Hiccup! I didn't even realize." She shakes her head at herself. "When did you get in?"

"A few minutes maybe," I shrug. "I was watching you build your map. I've never been to these lands," I gesture to her papers. "Some of these are familiar though—you drew them for me that day in the snow, after I showed you my maps." My hand comes up to my breastplate, where the notebook still sits, untouched for far too long.

"Aye," she replies. "I realized that when I was still—what was that you called me, son—a crazy vigilante dragon lady," she chuckles, "I knew this part of the world like the back of my hand. I flew wherever I wanted, _when_ ever I wanted. But now…

"What I mean is I don't want to get rusty. I don't want the lands I've found, the knowledge I've gathered over these years, to be lost." She looks wistfully at her drawings for a few minutes. When she speaks again, there's a new emotion in her voice. "I want something good to come out of my twenty years of… self-imposed exile."

She still feels guilty, it occurs to me. I kneel down beside her and take her hand in both of mine. "Mom, I understand why you didn't come back." I sigh and let my eyes trace the borders of a particularly large island near the top of her incomplete map. "I would be lying if I said that as a kid I didn't wish my mom was with me. I did wish that. A lot. Even when I wasn't really a kid anymore." I look into her eyes, so much like my own. "But you're here now, and that's what matters. I don't resent you leaving," I say, knowing it will be true in due time. "I just appreciate you coming back. I'm really glad we found each other." I almost keep going and add how much I wish dad could be here now. So we could be a family like I'd thought we'd be, before… But I don't. She and I are both grieving vastly different parts of Stoick's life. I didn't know him when she did, and she didn't know him when I did. We have been there for each other, but we've both mourned individually. I don't know how to bring up his loss without losing the connection we've built since his passing. Instead I pick up one of the pieces of the map. "I think making this map is a great idea. Exploring is rewarding in and of itself, but recording your findings makes it even more worthwhile. You get to share what you've discovered with people even after you're long gone."

She smiles, clearly pleased. "Yes! And you know what else? We should write a travelogue, you and I. So that we can record not just where we've been, but also what we've seen and the people we've encountered."

It's something I've thought about myself, but just never got around to doing because I was always rushing off again, to somewhere new. And now, where is the time? I tell her this and she smiles knowingly. "You are a free spirit, son. And that will _always_ be a part of who you are. You're a chief by duty to your people, but that doesn't mean you have to give up your duty to your heart. Be true to yourself. If you want to write about your travels, commit to a little each morning. Or every other evening. A page. Or even just a memory at a time." She brushes her fingers across my forehead, smoothing it out; and my eyes close instinctively, trusting her touch. "I think you'll find a lot of this tension will melt away once you stop feeling like you're not doing what you love."

I nod at her sound advice, and sit back, leaning against the chair leg as she turns back to her work. Something green catches in the corner of my eye and I turn my head. There, by the kitchen door, Mom's old vigilante mask sits tucked into a corner. Has she always kept that there, I wonder. Because I could swear that wasn't there as late as this morning. I watch her face as she's drawn into her maps again. _Be true to yourself._ Was she only referring to me when she said that?


End file.
